


I'd Do Anything For You

by pumpkinspylatte



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2428937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinspylatte/pseuds/pumpkinspylatte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pocket watch used by anyone other than a Spy can result in horrifying changes, especially during World War II.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic that I'm posting so please give me feedback! Also, I do not live in Australia so if any of the history is incorrect I'm sorry. I did the best research I could, so the seasons and times and all that might be messed up. The chapters are very short so it's an easier read!

On the break of daylight a mother holding her son tightly to her side kissed her husband goodbye on the lips and closed the screen door shut, making sure to lock it. The young man, no older than 25 turned back to his wife and son waving and smiling. The bus pulled off and the mother grabbed her son’s hand waving it to his father. When the bus was no longer visible down the dirt road the women pulled her son back into the living room, setting him down and making her way to the back bedroom. The child of about a year old went back to playing with his toys and dolls like he had before he was rudely interrupted by his parents.

The poor woman sat at her vanity table, holding her rosary laced between her fingers and prayed. She kissed the rosary multiple time, praying in between the sounds of her crying. She looked into her mirror, her light blond hair was falling out of her bun around her face and her make up had smeared lightly underneath her eyes. The bags under her eyes had only gotten worse. She stood up from her chair, grabbing a tissue and wiping her face clean. The son began crying and wailing, his voice sounding like it would go dry if he continued. The mother quickly made her way to the living room to find a man at the door. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans. His once black hair and now faded to grey and his wrinkles formed around his lips, cheeks, and eyes.

"Evelyn?" His voice cracked and he took a step forward. "Please. I need to talk to you, about Thomas." The man looked down at the little boy frowning. Evelyn, the mother, walked to the front door and let the man in. As the man left the mother folded a piece of paper and hid it in her pocket.

The year was 1914 and Australia had officially been cast into the first World War. The woman felt hopeless and useless. She had no talents to put forth to help sew, or bake, or shine shoes to send to the soldiers. With a child at home she couldn't go off to work, she lost all income while her husband was away.

Thomas grew to be two years old and was the happiest little boy. He got a new doll for his birthday and a little toy car model that his grandfather helped him build. The boy had talked to his grandfather saying that "mummy's hair isn't pretty and yellow anymore." Though 'yellow' sounded more like 'wewwo.' The mother spent most days planting and harvesting in their backyard anything she could. Radishes, turnips, carrots, and pumpkins. She didn't have the strength or money to hire a man to hunt for her. The boy's grandfather offered but she refused, she felt more for her family than herself. She took Thomas to his grandfather's house every weekend even though it was a two mile walk. The grandfather invited her in for a cup of coffee like he does every weekend and she would always refuse but for once she accepted.

"Robert, I need you to take in Thomas for a while. I need to get a job and I can't leave the house while he's there. I can stop by every day, I just need money. My family will starve." She begged and cried holding her rosary to his hands.

"Evelyn, please stay. Stay here with me. I'll buy your house so you can live here until Gregory comes home. I don't want you in that house alone. You'll go mad." He grabbed her hand, kissing her forehead. Evelyn sat for a moment crying and wiping her tears on her dress sleeve; she eventually agreed.

Another 3 years passed until her husband returned from war. Living with his father, Gregory demanded his father sell them their house back. Robert refused. Thomas spent many days staying in his room with the door locked, playing with his toy car models, pretending he was in a grand race up against David Rummy, the mean boy down the street. His imagination would sometimes pull him away from his home and he could see his parents smiling and laughing. He would see his mother's blond hair and green eyes light up when his father walked in.  
His grandfather would some days take Thomas on walks for what seemed like hours. Talking about his future and where he wanted to go when he grew up. 10 years passed and Thomas would go on walks every day after school with Susan Dunn. She was 16 and about to graduate, she had jet black hair that tightened up in a bun on the back of her head. She never wore makeup, but always had her hair done perfectly. Sometimes when she laughed, a piece of her hair would fall out and onto her cheek, much like his mother's hair did when she cried or drank. Although Thomas was a year younger he had hoped and dreamed he and Susan would grow old together and have 4 dogs.

Eight years later he proposed and she said yes. They spent three years together in his parents old house before World War II began.

His mother was there on the porch hugging him and sliding a folded piece of paper into his pocket. Although, he felt it, he decided to wait to open it on the bus. Thomas kissed his wife and new born son, Isaiah, on the forehead as he walked towards the bus. Susan grabbed her son's hand and waved it to his father. She would go about her daily routine of cleaning houses and sewing blankets for the poor. She was not rich herself in any way, but she always felt the need to give back to the public.

Thomas sat on the bus moving a folded piece of paper between his fingers. On the front was 'Thomas" in an elegant cursive. He slid the paper back into his pocket, and then pulled it again. He wanted to know so desperately what the note said but he felt it would be wrong for him to not save it.


	2. Chapter 2

Thirty men aged between 18 and 35 ran in step around an oval shaped track while a man of about 50 shouted commands. All the men wore matching grey sweatsuits and all had black tobogan hats.

"Left! Right! 10 pushups! Run!" The man had completely white hair, but his face didn't show signs of early aging. His voice was very raw and torn away like he would lose his voice any minute. 

Thomas ran inbetween two men from Sydney and a small village outside Melbourne. The running lasted for around an hour and every man was drenched in sweat. 

"Alright, head into dorms and change. Dinner starts at six!" The man yelled louder than before. Thomas had started walking to his room and the two men followed. Jack was from Sydney and Frank was from right outside of Melbourne. Frank talked about how lovely his wife and children were back home while Thomas walked behind listening. Jack had no wife and no kids, he lived in a small apartment with a roomate, Greg. Thomas started thinking about his parents, and then his wife, and then his son. How his son was growing up without his father, how hard his wife's life must be withiut him. 

"So you got a babe back home?" Jack puched his arm. 

Oh, oh yeah. Her name is Susan. I got a son too, Isaiah." Thomas smiled for the first time since he'd been at camp. 

"So where you from? You're a bit tanner than the rest of his here." Frank smirked and laughed. 

"Oh, Muckleford. Out in the Outback." Thomas walked faster towards his room as they approached his hall. "Well, I'll see you at dinner. This is my hall." He turned down the hall and into his room, the second room on the right. His roomate, Lane, had already showered and headed back to the mess hall, the dirty clothes and towels on the floor made it evident. 

                     *******************

Thomas sat down at a table full of other men, different accents and dialects spread around the room, but none exactly like his.

"Hey! Thomas! He's from Muckleford! No one here at this table is ever been there! What's it like?" Jack shouted from down the table at him, he couldn't have been older than 20 so he was still learning how to properly communicate. Thomas moved down the table across from Jack. 

"Well," his voice has very quiet but confident. "It's quiet, and real dusty. You know, sometimes you might see a kangaroo in your front yard or an alligator come right up your front steps and invite himself in." Thomas saw how interested everyone already was. He was much older than the rest so he had to keep them entertained. "I'm a good shot. I can shoot a perentie from a mile away. You guys ever seen a perentie?" He looked around to see all the young men shaking their heads. "The perentie is this big two meter long lizard. He could take down an alligator if he wanted. But I took him down. I named him Al, and he's hanging on my mantle back home." Thomas took a bit of his steak, and a sip of water and continued. He want on telling stories about wrestling alligators, and shooting tresspassers dead with one shot from his sniper rifle. All the boys were so amused by his tales that they had all forgotten to eat. 

An announcement came over the intercom, the static was quick but ear piercing. 

"Any men interested in special training for spies, snipers, or piloting is to report in the open gym tomorrow morning at seven A.M." All the boys around Thomas started punching him and yelling about how he should go in the morning. He smiled and leaned forward into the table. All the boys follow him movement.

"Yeah," he slapped the table energeticly and pushed back. "I'll do it. Why the hell not?" All the boys started cheering. Another announcement came. 

"Dinner is now finished. You have an hour before soldiers are to be in bed. You may spend the next hour anywhere except the track." None of the boys moved away from the table, not even to throw out their left overs. They were so enticed by Thomas' stories that they awaited more. One boy leaned forward and start shouting.

"You ever shot a kangaroo? Or what about a giant snake? My pop always tells me about giant snakes that live out in the desert and outback. He said they get up to 10 meters!" All the boys started sighing and day dreaming about a snake that big. 

"Ah, no. You're pop is talking about a King Cobra." He rolled his 'r' to add emphasis. "Nah, I never seen a King Cobra but I've seen a Burmese Python! Those son's of bitches can grow up to about 5 meters! But a King Cobra can be up to 8 and a half meters long!" Thomas smirked at the boy next to him before getting up. "It's been fun talking to you guys and telling stories, but it's time for a smoke." He pulled a pack of Chesterfield cigarettes from his breast pocket. "Any one want to join me?" All the boys looked at each other. It was obvious none of them had ever smoked. 

Thomas stepped outside the mess hall and lit a cigarette as another man walked up to him. The man stood a few feet from him smoking a cigarette as well. The two men stood awkwardly wanting to start a conversation but never initiating one. The man leaned over slowly. 

"You interested in special training?" The man leaned back and took a drag from his cigarette. 

Thomas looked over and smiled, taking a hit from his cigaratte. "Yeah, I'm gonna be a sniper." The man put out his cigarette.

"I'm a spy." His accent was definitely not Australian. 

"Sir, where are you from?" He looked to be about the same age as Thomas but his hair has already started to lightly grey at his fringe. 

"France. I'm here to help train new spies for your military." The man held out his hand to shake Thomas'. "I'm Baptiste LaMonte." 

Thomas shook the man's hand. "Thomas Erich." 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The hallway was silent except for the faint sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Two men woke up at the break of dawn to take showers and get dressed. Under the sound of the shower Thomas heard the man a stall over.

"Sooo, you gon' be a sniper or a spy? Or may you gon' be a pilot? Fly planes over Germany? I'm gon' be a pilot. I'ma be a world known pilot. I been making plane models for years now. I know every out and in of a plane." The man's accent was very more city style than Thomas'. He was very obviously from the heart of Sydney. Maybe he even known Jack. 

"I'm gonna be a sniper. I've been shooting from a rifle for almost my whole life. I'm gonna be the best bloody sniper this country ever had." Thomas smiled to him self as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist. Another man ran into the shower room panicking. He kept asking if he had enough time to get ready. Thomas looked over to the clock above the sink. "You got 30 minutes, mate. No rush." 

"30 minutes! I can't get ready in 30 bloody minutes! I need atleast an hour! I still have to shave, and get dressed! Shaving takes me 30 minutes by itself!" The man quickly stepped into the shower as Thomas walked out. 

 ***************

The auditorium was filled with men, laughing, talking, standing in zig zag lines trying to be the first to a booth. As he grazed the room, he couldn't find Baptiste. All he wanted to do was say 'Good morning,' but he was no where to be found. Thomas stood in line for a sign that read:

"SNIPERS: THE MILITARY'S BEST FRIEND!"

Thomas waited anxiously, taking a step up every few minutes. His palms had become very sweaty and his mouth dry, he was so nervous and excited. He stepped up to the booth and took a sheet of people to fill out. He already knew that he would get a spot, but he wanted to make sure his resume would get high ratings so he played it up a bit. 

'Experience: Shooting since I was around 5. I hunt regularly for my family.

Past work: Hunting, farming, and personal hunting for others'

All the boys he had dinner with had crowded around him as he filled out his paperwork. 

"You gon' be the best sniper there ever was!"

"I know you can do it, you even said so yourself last night."

Jack chimed with "I bet you'll be the top of the class!" 

Thomas smiled and looked around, all the boys were wearing navy blue lanyards that said "Pilot in Training," but he was more worried about Baptiste not showing up. Could he possibly not woken up early enough?

All three seperate classes devided into different cabins, rooms, and training yards.

All the men who signed up for snipers were in a training field, trees and signs surrounded them with targets painted on at different heights. One by one the men stepped up and practiced target shooting for an hour and waited for them to be called to take a physical and target test. Thomas talked to man next to him about shooting back home until he heard his name called from behind him. 

"Gun or arrow first?" A tall, wide framed man stood in front a him. Thomas looked from bucket to bucket. "Gun or arrow first, soldier?" Thomas reached for the gun first, he had more experience with a gun. He stepped into a room with targets painted onto signs while three men evaluated his effort. His mind was racing as he hit every target almost dead center. Next was the arrow. The men gave him 5 shots to get adjusted to the arrow. He pulled back the bow and released. An arrow shot across the room and hit the black center of a target. He pulled back again, this time the red ring just barely next to the center. His confidence boosted as he shot arrow after arrow at the different targets. Adrenaline pumped through his body and he ran further back, pulling the bow and sending another arrow to a corner target hitting the bullseye again. 

The three men talked as they shared glances to Thomas. 

"Your results will be back by noon. Head to the track for five laps, record with General Franklin." The burly man called out escorting him from the room. 

 As Thomas started walking to the track a force behind him jabbed his side, in slight pain he stopped and bent over. 

"Bloody ell!" He called out as he saw a pair of newly shined black leather shoes. The top of the shoes had the looks of alligator skin.

"Salut, you okay there ami?" The voice's accent was very familiar, a very deep, sensual voice sounded from above him. "Ami, it means 'friend' in French." Baptiste grabbed Thomas' shoulder and pulled him back up. Thomas rubbed his side and walked next to the man toward the track.

"You didn't have to stab me, mate! That shit bloody hurt." Thomas' voice had raised but still sounded playful. Baptiste pulled out a small tin box and flipped it open in one swift motion. 

"Ah, cigarette, ami?" Baptiste pronounced all his syllables while he held the box out to Thomas. 

"Not now mate, I'm about to go run." Thomas let out a slight groan as he rubbed his ribs, trying to stand up correctly. "I'm pretty sure I've got a good spot at sniper, maybe even head sniper of this military."

"Ahhh, very impressive." Baptiste lit his cigarette and hid his tin bow back into his coat pocket. 

"By the way, I didn't see you this morning, you know, in the gym. What, you just wake up late? Or were you using your cool spy tricks to hide?" 

"I-I woke up earlier than anyone else, made a cup of coffee like always, but I just got lost listening to records. I dozed off in my chair. Didn't realize  I had fallen asleep until an hour ago when I woke up." Baptiste took a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke away from Thomas' face. 

The two men continued walking to the track in comfortable silence. Thomas walked up to a tall, thin man and asked a few questions while Baptiste stood along the fence, smoking and watching the few men run. 

"It'll be five laps, no walking. Here's a tag, it'll help me keep track of your time. Now go." Thomas placed a red pin on his sleeve and began jogging around the track. The weather was exceptional, although still chilly from winter, spring was upon Australia and the flowers had started blooming. Thomas worked up a sweat by the end of his first lap. "One twenty-six" The General called out, "Come on." Thomas kept jogging and ran for second intervals every minute. Every lap the General called out another time, "Three sixteen, five fifty-four, eight twelve." He finished his five laps in fifteen minutes flat. Baptiste was still waiting by the fence for him. General Franklin patted Thomas on the shoulder as he walked past him, "Congratulations soldier. You're in." 

***************

6 P.M had come sooner than thought, Baptiste and Thomas had gone to the cafeteria together, taking short breaks to step outside for a smoke. They had finished eating and headed to the firing yard to talk and smoke. Thomas sat on a rock while Baptiste found a bench to sit on. 

"Sooo, I guess you got family back home in France. " Thomas put out his cigarette and lit a new one. 

"Non, they abandoned me as an adolescent. I do not talk about it much." He took a long draw from his cigarette and stood up, getting ready to walk away. 

"Oh, no sorry mate! I didn't mean to...uh, offend you. Please stay." Thomas reached out and grabbed Baptiste's wrist. "I'm sorry, man. I just, I thought I'd ask." 

"Non, it is okay ami. I forgive you. I must go now anyway, if you would like to follow along." Baptiste walked towards the dormitories with Thomas following behind him. They walked in silence other than the light sound of Thomas inhaling and exhaling. "I, will go to my room now. It was nice conversing with you, ami. I will see you tomorrow perhaps for dinner again?" Baptiste walked into his dorm hall; Thomas waited outside the door for a moment before putting out his cigarette and walking back to the firing ward. 

Thomas took a seat on the bench where Baptiste had sat and noticed a golden shine under the bench. As he leaned forward to reach his hand underneath, the object shined again. He grabbed the objects chain and walked to the dorms to see it under the light. 

A pocket watch. He flipped it open and flipped between his hands, he noticed a little button, as he pressed it he felt his body begin to tingle and he could see his skin and body begin to disappear. He started yelling but could hear his voice begin to fade out. 


	4. Chapter 4

The morning bell rang and men rose from their beds and began their morning. A single man arose from his recliner, his pipe had fallen to the floor beside him. His hand was almost broken from him banging it on the arm rest to wake it up. He wiped his face and made his way to the bathroom. In the mirror, his hair was thrown away from his head and his chin had stubble beginning to grow back. He ran his hands through a tin of white gel and through his hair. The grey streak was more prominent now than ever. He had considered dying it, but something made him stop everytime.

He quickly dressed himself before he noticed his pocket watch was gone. Not in his suitcase, not by his chair, not even under the dresser. Gone, like it had completely vanished. It must have been somewhere so he just moved on to the mess hall. The time was just after seven in the morning and the sun was still rising, hues of pinks and blues glazed the skies as his grey eyes turned themselves to the door he almost ran into. He turned around to take one last look at the sky as a small shimmer from the ground caught his eye. He stepped towards the shimmer and noticed a golden chain, his pace became faster until he was running towards the shimmery object that laid in the sand. 

"Oh no. Oh no. Pas bon. Not good at all." He pulled the chain from the sand. His pocketwatch. The button on the side had been charred and the hinge of the flap was breaking off. "Who?" His chest pressurized as he thought about who he was with last night. "Thomas!" He pressed the button over and over and nothing but a small spark came from the pocket watch. He panicked and ran back towards the dorms. "Daryl, he'll know what to do, hopefully." Furiously banging on the door to room 217, he began sweating. He started to pull out a cigarette and finally Daryl answered the door.

"Son, do you know what time it is? I just flew in last night and I've had about" he glanced at the clock on the wall "about four hours of sleep." 

"I need you to look at something for me, please." 

"You look horrible, but this better be an emergency." Baptiste's face was bright red and sweat had drenched his collar. "Come on, son." 

Daryl threw on his robe and made a pot of coffee. His dorm smelled of motor oil and pure-100%-real-man-sweat. Baptiste took a seat at his small kitchen table and pulled the watch from his pocket and placing it on the table. Daryl sat down and groaned as he did so; he picked up the watch and held it in the light. Baptiste had caught himself biting his nails, he had never had anxiety quite like this ever and he really had no idea what to do with his hands.  Daryl took a sip from his cup as he examined the watch more closely. He ran his thumb across the button and noticed a wire hanging out.

"Last night, it must have fallen out of my pocket and I guess Thomas, the new head sniper, must have found it and tried to open it with the button." 

"I don't see the problem then, why is it so charred, son?" His Texan accent was so hard to understand, but Baptiste made out his words slowly. 

"Well, a non-spy or non certified person couldn't use the pocket watch, without well, without being sent to another realm. A realm with pure nothingness and absence of everything else except themselves. I need you to fix that so I can get to that realm and find him. He could die in there if he's there for too long." Baptiste stood up and started pacing around the room, taking in all the small things. The small stuffed bear on the couch, and the wrench sitting on the side table. "Can you do it?" 

"Give me today. I'll try to figure something out, boy. Look, I'm going back to sleep, but I promise I'll have a plan and start working on it before nine p.m. Son, go get some breakfast and stop worrying." Daryl stood up and walked to the sink, pouring out the rest of his coffee and laying down on the couch. "Come back at around lunch, and tell me more about this realm and anything you know about the watch. See you later, son." 

Baptiste showed himself out, and slowly walked back to the mess hall. His stomach was growling and beginning to cramp and hurt. "Ami, where are you? Can you hear me?" He walked past the mess hall to the shooting range. He sat down on the bench right behind the fence and looked into his hands. "Ami, please. Tell me you're there. I know you're there. I know you can hear me. You can here me, right?" Baptiste began talking to himself. "No one's seen me cry since my mother passed away and my sister came into my bedroom with knocking. Ami, Thomas, you know what? I'm coming for you. I'm going to be there soon. Please, just give me time." A tear rolled down his cheek and fell into the cup of his hand. "It's crazy, ami. I barely know you. I don't even know your life story, or what your favorite film is. And yet, I'm so distraught over you." He sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve. He looked up at the closest target, pulling out his revolver and taking one shot. "Bulls eye. Just like ami would." He holstered the gun and walked towards the mess hall. 

A "balanced" breakfast of two eggs, sunny side up, never scrambled; a strip of bacon and a small pint of orange juice. He sat down at an empty table on the far right of the cafeteria. A young man followed him and sat across from him.

"Hey," he shoved a sausage in his mouth "you were with Thomas last night right?" The young boy swallowed and took a sip from his milk. "Well, you seen him this morning? Snipers supposed to be awake by six a.m and he's not here yet." He pointed with his fork to Baptiste's plate, "You gon' eat that?" Baptiste had only eaten the strip of bacon, and he pushed the plate towards the boy.

"No, garçon, go ahead." The boy started piling in the eggs along with his bacon. "And no, I have not seen him this morning. Maybe he accidentally slept in." Baptiste sat up from the table and walked outside, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. As he lit it, the same boy joined him.

"So where you from? Europe? Your accent is not Australian." 

"Oui, France." Baptiste tried to look away from the boy who really had a nice face, just a snobbish attitude. "Where are you from, garçon?" 

"Garçon? I'm from Boston, Mass! You ever heard of that place? It's on the east coast of the United States. I got here a few days ago, even though I wasn't supposed to be here until today. But flights got mixed up so here I am." 

"I'm Baptiste. And you?" Baptiste took a long draw from his cigarette and blew the smoke away from the boy. 

"Oh, my name is Riley! I'm a Scout. I play baseball. You play baseball? Do they even have baseball in France?" Riley straightened his back and looked up to Baptiste. 

"Oui, we have baseball in France, and no, I do not play such sports. I don't play sports at all." Baptiste started to walk back to the dorms. "See you later, garçon."

"My name is not garçon! Stop calling me that!" Riley yelled at him and kicked dirt up into the air. "Wow, the nerve of that guy. Calling me "gar-shon!"


End file.
